Something decorative—wooden or pewter or maybe a colorful glass button, emerald green maybe. She could do that, she could afford two sets of new buttons. Sometimes a small change could make all the difference.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After they saw Leo in the park, it took another three weeks for Nora to coerce Louisa out again and that was the day Simone spotted them leaving and asked if she could join. “I thought I saw you two skipping out of this particular ring of hell a few weeks ago,” she said, stopping on the front steps of the building to light a cigarette. “I live around here. Want to go to my apartment?”
In the weeks since then whenever they skipped class, Simone joined them and she’d completely taken over their weekly excursions. It was winter, and the only thing Louisa and Nora ever did now was go to the American Museum of Natural History because Simone had a family membership card and it was free or hang out at Simone’s apartment, which was always empty because both of her parents were attorneys who almost always went into the office on Saturdays. Louisa was sick of it. She wasn’t only sick of the deceit—she was certain it was just a matter of time before they were caught and then what?—she was sick of Simone’s apartment and even sick of the museum, a place she used to love because it was one of their family’s special destinations, one of the few Melody-approved field trips into New York, and what had seemed gleaming and exotic all through their childhoods—rooms with sharks and dinosaurs and cases of gemstones; live butterflies!—had been dulled over the past few months, tainted with familiarity and guilt and boredom.
And then there was Simone—the beautiful African American girl who always sat in the front row and finished her work before everybody else and wandered the room offering help to those who wanted it. She was a junior in high school, too, and Louisa had overheard the instructor say that Simone could probably get a perfect SAT score without too much effort. “Probably,” Simone had said, shrugging. Something about her made Louisa nervous. She seemed so much older than they were. She supposed it was just that Simone had grown up in Manhattan and was braver, more sophisticated. And she was free with her opinions of Nora and Louisa in a way that was discomfiting.
Every Saturday, at the start of their outing, she’d appraise Nora and Louisa, looking them up and down and pronouncing judgment on each piece of clothing and accessory: no, yes, God no, no, no, that is actually nice, please don’t wear that again. When she laughed, she threw back her head and hooted a little and was so loud people turned to stare. She smoked. She applied bright orange lipstick without even looking in a mirror, flicking a pinkie into the cleft of her upper lip and the corners to be sure it was perfect.
“This is my signature color,” she’d told them, snapping the tube of lipstick shut and tucking it into her back pocket. “Black women can wear these shades. Don’t you two even think about it.” That day she’d had her long braids piled on top of her head in a coiled bun, adding inches to her already imposing height, elongating her face, which could be aloof or curious depending on her mood. She wore fitted tees made out of some kind of diaphanous cotton that left nothing above the waist to be curious about. Her bras, the kind with the molded cup designed to enhance cleavage, were brightly colored and lacy and clearly visible under everything she wore. Melody still shopped for most of Nora’s and Louisa’s clothing, buying them serviceable lingerie on sale that sometimes verged on cute—prints of puppies or handbags or seashells—but never veered toward sexy.
Occasionally Simone would point to something one of them was wearing and say, “That is adorable,” not meaning it as a compliment. As far as Louisa could decipher, adorable in Simone’s lexicon was a combination of stupid and tacky. Simone was also fiercely critical of everything that was—to use her favorite insult—popular, her bright orange mouth twisting the word into an insult. If Simone liked something, it was tight, which made no sense to Louisa. “Shouldn’t tight be negative?” she asked Nora. “As in uncomfortable, constrained, restricting. As in these old pants are tight?”
“Not everything’s an SAT word,” Nora said, in a drawl Louisa had never heard her employ